Page 86 of A Trial of the Heart

“How does the sword work then? Could Castor summon it?” We strode to the target range on the far side of the training field near the waist-height stone wall.

“Castor could, but it wouldn’t work as well.” Gunnar stepped toward the weapons rack and retrieved a bow and arrows in a quiver for me. “Daxton holds the title and power of a high prince. The sword recognizes the power he commands, and even though QueenMinaeve siphons most of it away and he refuels our wards along with Adohan’s on occasion—”

“Wait, what?”

Gunnar’s eyes widened, and he turned his lips inward, biting them with a scowl. “Shit, you didn’t know that bit, did you? Dammit. It’s hard to keep these secrets when Daxton told us about…”

“About what?” I asked, strapping a quiver to my back and holding the bow steady in my left hand.

“About…” Gunnar looked like he was on the verge of exploding. He was definitely not the best at keeping secrets. “AboutthingsI can’t share.” I glared at him but surprisingly kept my questions to myself and didn’t push him for answers… for now. “All right, enough about Valencia and all these other side topics… let’s see what skills you have with this.”

I nocked an arrow and aimed at the target approximately eighty yards away across the field. Concentrating on my breathing, I steadied my hand and pulled back on the fletching, anchoring my right hand beneath my jaw adjacent to a nock in my ear—the same place I always drew. I stilled, exhaled, and released the fletching, watching the arrow soar and hiss through the air, landing with a thud as it sank in the middle, just where I aimed it.

“Impressive,” Gunnar said.

I nocked another two arrows, sending them flying to the target, landing above and below the first. “I could split the shaft in two at this range, but I’ve lost far too many good arrows performing that trick.”

“Really?” Gunnar’s brows rose with a sheepish grin. “Cocky much?”

“Confident,” I answered, releasing a fourth arrow to create a diamond-shaped grouping.

“But… can you still make that shot with enemies on all sides and running through battle?”

“And how do you intend to simulate that?”

He grinned all too eagerly as if the assessment and the topic of wargames were playthings to him. “Oh, I have my ways, but that’s for later. Today, we begin with the basics. Luck is completing a task once, but true skill is being able to repeat a successful task more than once.”

“Even if I tried this at night, I would still hit my target without faltering.”

“Aren’t we challenging Castor’s level of arrogance now?”

“No,” I countered, drawing the fifth arrow and firing it in the center of the other four, completing my design. “I’m just confident.”

Thanks to countless hours of practice with Magnus and working through training courses to perfect my skillset, I hadearnedmy weapon and my place as a scout within my pack. Rhea might have the upper hand with daggers, while Shaw, Gilen, and Talon all surpassed in sparring and the use of other larger weaponry, but I always excelled with my bow.

“I shot Daxton and almost killed him the first time I met him,” I added.

“He did mention that,” Gunnar said, holding his hand out for my bow, his expression morphing into a serious scowl laced with a warning. “Despite my humor, I’m fond of and fiercely loyal to my high prince. Hearing that he was almost killed…”

“Noted.” I nodded, dipping my head.

Gunnar’s hard smile stretched across his clean face. “Good—let’s move on. Now that we know what you are good with … let’s put your skills with the other weapons to the test.”

For the rest of the morning and the better part of the day, Gunnar assessed my abilities with daggers, a long sword, and other smaller blades utilized in battle. As I predicted, my skill with the long sword was far from perfect, but at least I wasn’t a complete novice.

Gunnar said he was confident that if I was in a tight spot, he could rely on me to put the pointed end through an enemy. I glared at him at first but ultimately laughed at his remark. He had a unique way of making me feel at ease even though I was struggling through portions of his evaluation. I had to remind myself that even though I felt like I was failing … the trials were not war. I wasn’t training to be a warrior on the front lines.

I doubted I would ever physically outmatch fighters such as Daxton, Gunnar, or even Castor without shifting into my animal form. Well, as long as my animal wasn’t a songbird or a small house cat. They had centuries of training under their belts compared to my twenty-two years. I had to be realistic. Even if I secretly wanted to prove myself in the Ice Gauntlet, it might not be the best idea.

The evening was approaching, and my gray training clothes were thoroughly soaked through with sweat and a few spots of blood from the split lip Gunnar gave me on the mat. It was 100 percent my fault for not reacting to his counter in time, and my lip, along with other bruises, would be a good reminder to stay one step ahead of my opponent when it mattered.

“How’s the lip and chin feeling?” Gunnar asked as he sank next to me on the grass, handing me a canteen filled with ice-cold water from the nearby river runoff.

“I’ve had worse… and I imagine there’s still more to come.” I took a long swig from the canteen, practically draining the contents. “This is helpful, though. Thanks.”

“No problem. I imagine the life of a shifter or champion, in your case, is not an easy path to follow.”

“No, it definitely hasn’t been,” I replied, glancing down at the three eight-pointed stars on my left arm. Ever since I’d made the choice to become the champion, my life had been anything but easy. “Capture, torture, death, recovery, adventure, attacked again, and… the trial of the mind. I could go on, but I’m sure you’ve heard all this by now.”

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